Chapter Sixty-Two: Zhang Luo’s Sense of Wonder

After many days, Deepwater Bay had completely transformed.

What was once a quiet, secluded little cove had now become a bustling major pier teeming with people.

Besides the original inhabitants of the fishing village, many settlers from other places had made their homes here. Fishermen from neighboring areas flocked to this spot, especially after the pirate attacks at Golden Sands Beach. Fearing another raid, everyone rushed to Qin Town, and so Deepwater Bay soon outshone Golden Sands, becoming the most popular harbor for hundreds of miles around.

Watching the fishermen cast their nets into the shimmering sea, the sunlight dancing on the waves, Zhang Luo, who had never seen the ocean before, felt an unbidden yearning rise in his heart.

Compared to his war-torn homeland, this coastal county before his eyes seemed all the more prosperous and peaceful.

“Benefactor, you’re here!” Li Erniu jumped off the boat and hurried over to Qin Zhen.

“Erniu, this is Zhang Luo. He’ll be working with you for the time being,” Qin Zhen introduced simply. “Old Zhang, this is Erniu, one of our own. If you need anything, just ask—no need to stand on ceremony.”

After a brief exchange of greetings, the shouts of fishermen echoed along the shore.

Dozens of bare-chested men worked together, pulling a long rope to drag the fishing net ashore.

“Thousand-fathom silk?”

Zhang Luo raised his brows, as if he’d spotted something interesting, and hurried over for a closer look.

“You know this stuff?” Qin Zhen asked curiously.

“Craft from Deep Shu. I wouldn’t say I know it well, but I’ve seen it before.” Zhang Luo ran his hand over the net, marveling, “It feels cool, has just the right firmness. Whoever made this thousand-fathom silk is a real craftsman! Its toughness is excellent—perfect for nets. Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” Qin Zhen replied with a smile.

“You made it?” Zhang Luo was astonished.

“Well, strictly speaking, I wove the net, but I bought the thousand-fathom silk.”

At that, Zhang Luo examined the net closely, unable to help but praise, “The workmanship is ingenious, taut and flexible in all the right ways. There aren’t many with such clever ideas as you.”

He paused, then continued, “But this thousand-fathom silk, for all its merits, is still a textile and has its limits. At most it can hold a thousand catties before reaching its breaking point. If you could weave a net from fine iron, the results would surely surpass this silk—perhaps you could even haul in fish weighing tens of thousands of catties.”

“Could you make one?” Qin Zhen perked up.

“I probably could, but I’d need the right tools.” Zhang Luo shrugged.

These words filled Qin Zhen with curiosity about Zhang Luo’s smelting skills.

He was eager to know just what astonishing craftsmanship this burly man before him truly possessed!

Qin Zhen secretly vowed that when Lin San returned, he would gather all the needed tools for the forge and let Zhang Luo get to work without delay.

“Oh, right.” Suddenly, something else came to Qin Zhen’s mind, and his eyes lit up with anticipation.

If Zhang Luo could manage iron wire, what about more refined ironwork?

For example... gun barrels, firing pins?

It was well known that saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal formed the base of gunpowder, but to use it reliably in warfare required advanced smelting techniques.

Black powder originated in the Tang, flourished in the Song, and was perfected in the Ming. Before the Song, gunpowder’s power was hard to control and mostly used for fireworks or by alchemists. After the Song, with advances in technology—especially improvements in smelting and the spread of coal-fired ironmaking—artisans could produce higher-quality iron, providing the foundation for the first “hot weapons.”

Before then, Northern Song generals would tie gunpowder to iron arrows or use bamboo barrels for hand cannons—hardly effective.

By the Southern Song, gunpowder techniques advanced, and the earliest “tube-shaped firearms” appeared. Bamboo tubes were replaced by more precise iron and copper barrels, and iron blocks were used as projectiles (similar to bullets), with gunpowder’s explosive force propelling them. This was the ancestor of rifles and bullets.

Unfortunately, during wars with the Song, both the Jin and the Mongols learned to produce and use firearms—contributing immensely to the Mongol cavalry’s conquest of Eurasia.

By the Ming, with the advancement of steel casting and the emergence of Suzhou steel, artisans could make even stronger barrels—cannon barrels—and the famed Redcoat Cannon rose to prominence.

Qin Zhen had read many historical novels where people casually produced stable matchlocks and cannons, but he knew that wasn’t realistic. Black powder and firearms are two very different things—the former needs only sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal, but the latter requires much more advanced ironworking and forging.

Qin Zhen didn’t know if this world’s forging techniques were up to the task of producing the necessary firearm components, but given that artisans could make something as fine as thousand-fathom silk, there was a chance.

Under Qin Zhen’s expectant gaze, Zhang Luo hesitated.

“If you want a solid iron rod, that’s no problem. But if you mean hollowing out the center while keeping the structure sound, and then fitting it to other pieces like tenons and mortises—you’re asking for trouble.”

He spoke gruffly, “I’m a blacksmith, not a magician.”

Hearing this, Qin Zhen couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

If he could produce firearms, he could easily make his mark on the world and utterly overwhelm it. But clearly, reality hadn’t opened that door for him.

“From what you say, you’ve also studied ironworking?” Zhang Luo asked curiously.

He could tell from Qin Zhen’s words that this young man knew a thing or two, though perhaps not as much as he let on.

What kind of country boy had such ideas?

“I just like tinkering with things,” Qin Zhen replied with a chuckle.

Since producing firearms seemed unfeasible, Qin Zhen had to make do with the tools at hand.

He passed over the repeating crossbow.

“Brother Zhang, take a look at this—could you make one out of iron?”

“A crossbow? You made this?” Zhang Luo was dumbfounded. A quick inspection revealed the ingenious craftsmanship. Testing it, he found the repeating crossbow was remarkably precise, accurate, and powerful! What shocked him even more was its ability to fire multiple shots in succession!

The only drawback was its short range—just thirty paces. If it could reach two hundred paces and be issued to the whole army, Da Shang’s forces would be invincible!

The more Zhang Luo examined it, the more he loved the repeating crossbow. He couldn’t help but ask, “Where did you learn woodworking?”

Qin Zhen scratched his head sheepishly. “Ah, I just like tinkering, figured it out on my own.”

“A genius! You’re a bloody genius!” Zhang Luo’s breath quickened. He stared at Qin Zhen for a long moment, then blurted out, “Would you like to become my apprentice? I’ll teach you blacksmithing!”

“Huh?”